


Bed and Breakfast

by Tattered_Dreams



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Typical Swearing, Domestic Fluff, Gallavich, Gen, It's Shameless idk what you expect really, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, References to Sexual Situations, Slice of Life, by someone on parole, family feels i guess, set vaguely around season 10, spoilers for season 10, suspicion of gun possession, the others are just... there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:08:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23092345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tattered_Dreams/pseuds/Tattered_Dreams
Summary: It was a normal start to the morning in the Gallagher house - at least until Mickey came flying through the front door like he lived there (which, well...he did) and breakfast was put on hold by what followed.-Domestic Gallavich set vaguely around season 10-...“You running a B and B now?”“Why?” Ian asked. He wheeled around, challenge curling at the edges of the question just because he loved the way Mickey got when Ian came at him like this. It was always that raised eyebrow first, unimpressed and daring that slid fast into roaming eyes and a molten spine, eagerness kindling under his skin, hot to the touch. Ian pulled himself to his full height and couldn’t be fucked to care that Lip quickly moved out of the kitchen away from them. “That okay with you?”
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 24
Kudos: 246





	Bed and Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> So. This was written a few weeks ago in a very spur of the moment decision at about 2am when the idea wouldn't leave me alone. Finally edited it properly when I decided to post it.
> 
> It's only the second thing I've ever written for Shameless, or Ian and Mickey (The first is a Star Wars au oneshot still sat unedited in my google docs haha) so it's short and I'm still trying to get their voices right. I hope it reads okay.

It was an average start to the morning in the Gallagher house.

Setting up the coffee machine was always the first move as soon as someone was out of bed, and after that it was a free for all. Organised chaos had been the daily routine for as long as any of them could remember. Eventually they would all pile haphazardly into the kitchen for breakfast before scattering like mice under a lifted floorboard to school or work. It was a working system.

The clock was ticking steadily past nine and they were starting to gather in the kitchen around the smell of fresh coffee and toasting bread when the front door flew open at the other end of the house. 

It was early February and the skies were still grey and overcast, the weather following them as the weeks clawed their way out of the depths of winter. The chilled wind caught around the edge of the door and tossed it carelessly into the wall. The resounding noises as it left dents in plaster and then rebounded (so hard it slammed closed) were so commonplace in the Gallagher household that it didn’t incite much of a reaction at all.

Lip leaned around the side of the fridge in little more than idle curiosity.

“Oh hey, look what the cat dragged in.”

Ian looked up from the pan on the stove, an eye roll ready and waiting. Even if there was slightly more fondness in that than there might once have been, that was still a certain kind of tone that he recognised all too well. Franny was still seated at the table, but she leaned out over the back of her chair, contorting in a way that only a young child could, to peer down the length of the house.

Ian glanced over his shoulder and sure enough - Mickey was in the middle of flipping Lip off, a flat expression on his face.

“Looks like the cat’s been fucking busy, dumping your ass in here first,” Mickey threw back at him. “Don’t you live in that tin can outside now?”

If one of Lip’s default settings was a natural inclination towards antagonism then one of Mickey’s was just as surely throwing it back, though more and more accompanied by an air of exasperation.

There was a quick inhale from Lip and Ian turned to kick at his leg before it could turn into a retort. Lip shoved once at the back of his head; a small concession to backing down, and went to pour coffee instead. Ian batted him off absent-mindedly, still watching over his shoulder and directing a spoon blindly around the pan on the stove.

Mickey hadn’t waited for Lip to respond, either uncaring (more likely) or assuming that Ian would head him off anyway (well). He’d edged towards the living room window, peering out between the curtains from across his shoulder, leaning back just slightly enough to glance down the street. He had a hand behind his back - fingers curled around the handle of a Beretta, maybe, or a Smith and Wesson - and a careful, shifty edge had risen to his eyes when he looked away from Lip. Ian decided to let that one go. It was South Side; that kind of look was nothing to get antsy about just in principle, and if it was worth worrying, then Mickey would tell him.

Ian shook his head, turning back to serving scrambled eggs across the line up of plates on the kitchen counter. He caught Carl’s eye over the rim of the pan. His little brother’s eyebrows were high, clearly aimed at the decidedly covert way Mickey was hovering behind the curtain. Ian shook his head and Carl silently let it drop with an easy shrug, amusement pulling at the tired line of his mouth.

“Okay,” Ian said brightly, before anything new could kick off. “Breakfast, let’s go.”

Carl gathered a handful of knives and forks to throw down in the middle of the table, then stepped out of the way for Franny to hop off of her chair and circle the counter. A clatter from upstairs suggested Debbie might be on her way back down - or breaking things in her room; one or the other. There was a battering from the downstairs bathroom and Liam nearly fell through the door. He scrambled upright, brushing himself off and coming to join them like it hadn’t even happened.

Lip pulled out his phone while Ian started handing plates out and sending the Gallaghers off to seats.

He shoved it up to his ear whilst leaning out over the sink, fingers prodding at the grimy net drape to peer under it. Ian figured he was checking the RV for signs of activity despite them keeping the curtains shut all hours. It took just a few rings and then the call connected with a little crunch of soundwaves. Lip startled away from the window like he’d been caught with his hand down his pants.

“Tami- hey- breakfast’s up, if you-okay yeah, great.”

Lip was on the phone for probably less than twenty seconds, all told, and puffed a breath out of his cheeks as the line clearly went dead. He stuffed it back in his pocket, eyes skirting past Ian’s and scraped a hand through his short hair.

It wasn’t any of Ian’s business, but it seemed like instead of finding their footing more as days went on, Lip and Tami just continued to have days that were either really good or really bad with little in between. There was a faint kind of warmth in Lip’s face though. It seemed at odds with the short phone call and Ian couldn’t be sure what kind of day this might shape up to be for them yet.

“You running a B and B now?” Mickey asked, stepping through to them as he abandoned his careful eye out on the street. His eyebrows were arched up towards his hairline, but there was a smile playing at his mouth as Ian carefully handed Franny her plate, making sure it was balanced before letting it go.

“Why?” Ian asked. He wheeled around, challenge curling at the edges of the question just because he loved the way Mickey got when Ian came at him like this. It was always that raised eyebrow first, unimpressed and daring that slid fast into roaming eyes and a molten spine, eagerness kindling under his skin, hot to the touch. Ian pulled himself to his full height and couldn’t be fucked to care that Lip quickly moved out of the kitchen away from them. “That okay with you?”

Mickey’s eyes shot to his, his expression softening first, before he tugged his lower lip into his mouth, teeth pressing down. He didn’t make any protest or defence, didn’t make any attempt to push back or move out of the way; he just stood quiet and daring as Ian hooked fingers into the belt loops of his jeans. Ian tugged him forward; off balance and close, and then pressed; backwards and claiming ground.

The fridge rattled heavily, worn electrics humming as Ian pushed Mickey up against it. His thumbs were hard in the groove of Mickey’s pelvis through the thick denim, but he held a deliberate, teasing four inches of space between their hips. Mickey’s gaze slid across Ian’s mouth then darted back up and the air left his lungs with a soft, punched little groan.

“Jesus,” Lip muttered, head tipped back to the ceiling as he tossed a bottle of sauce in Carl’s direction. “Please. We’re trying to eat. And my kid will be in here soon.”

“Oh, like you have delicate sensibilities,” Mickey scoffed at him, eyes never leaving Ian’s.

Ian smirked. “Who are you avoiding at the front of the house?”

Just because he knew Mickey would tell him if it was serious didn’t mean he wasn’t going to ask anyway.

Mickey rolled his tongue across his mouth, though, that shiftiness returning as his eyes finally slid away. Ian tilted his head. He knew how Mickey reacted when he was scared, when he was annoyed, and when he was trying to hide either of those things with something else - either so he didn’t scare or piss off Ian, or to spare the younger ones. This was none of those things.

This was...bashfulness, Ian wanted to call it.

Ian slid his hands a little on Mickey’s hips, dug his thumbs in again - a reminder that made Mickey twitch a little in his grip.

“Nothing,” he said, fast and thickly, his brow pulled. “Nothing.”

He repeated it, this time lifting his eyes back to Ian’s, the gaze firm and reassuring despite the faint colour high on his cheekbones. Mickey shifted his hips to free up a hand from behind his back and batted at Ian’s hold on him, playful though he’d never admit it. His thumb soothed across the inside of Ian’s wrist, hypnotic between his tendons where the skin was pale and translucent.

Ian let him go and nodded. He trusted Mickey, trusted that whatever it was, it wasn’t a concern.

“Want some breakfast?” he asked instead, turning away and back to the last couple of plates on the counter. “Or was it just the bed part of the bed and breakfast you were interested in?”

Carl made a slight grimace into his glass of OJ and Lip rubbed a hand over his face while Franny looked between the two of them, wide-eyed and unaware.

A warm hand pressed in between Ian’s shoulder blades, fingers sliding down the indent of his spine through the light cotton of his shirt, and then pressed with more purpose right in the small of his back. He locked his molars together and swallowed heavily. At a little after nine in the morning, in the middle of the family kitchen, and having fucked Mickey in the shower already since waking up, he really had no business getting hard at that small, easy touch, but all the same…

“Eh, what the hell,” Mickey said, amusement warm in his voice, all too close and quiet at Ian’s back. “Sign me up for the full experience, Gallagher.”

Ian was going to kill him. Probably.

“Fuck you,” he said, and he already knew that it was going to come out far too fond and happy, refracted around the shape of a smile, to sound like anything other than an  _ I love you _ .

Mickey pressed up against his back, mouthed a small hidden kiss at his shoulder, then reached around him.

For a fleeting instant, Ian really thought he was about to go for his dick; palm him right there in the kitchen, juuuust about hidden by the height of the kitchen counter and fuck if it didn’t send a rush of white heat through his blood, pulsing south. The others would have to clear out fast because Ian wasn’t about to stop him.

But he didn’t.

Mickey reached around him and quickly, gently, set down on the counter a single rose.

Ian froze.

So did the rest of the kitchen. Lip looked like his brain might be playing the Windows shut down noise on a loop. Franny’s eyes took up her whole face and Liam would probably get a cramp in his arm with the way he’d gone solid stretched out for the ketchup. Carl’s eggs slid off the end of his suspended fork like they’d fainted.

Ian blinked, but the rose was still there.

It was mid-bloom, the petals still delicately furled and stained dark red. The edges were curling up and tipped black, almost like someone had held a lighter to them, but there was no sign that they’d been damaged to look that way. It was a quietly beautiful thing that somehow looked like it had seen violence and survived it. It even still had its thorns.

Ian twisted and Mickey stepped back away from him, eyes on the flower and biting into his lip again, this time with an edge of anxiousness instead.

Ian reached out - lightning reflexes that had never gone away after leaving the army, in part because Ian knew it turned Mickey on - and snatched a handful of his jacket to haul him in again.

“Look,” Mickey started, even as he let himself be pulled, “Don’t go making a big deal ou-”

Ian slanted his mouth over Mickey’s and kissed him, swallowing the rest of the defensive protest and the small, bitten sound of surprise and surrender that followed.

“Oh, come on,” Carl groaned.

Ian didn’t bother coming up for air. He licked his way into Mickey’s mouth while flipping off his brother over his shoulder.

Something that was probably a spoon hit him in the back before clattering to the floor. A chair scraped against the linoleum. Ian sucked on Mickey’s tongue, teasing at the open stretch of his mouth until a hand reached up to the nape of his neck, warm fingers fixing him in place. Mickey bit on his lower lip, coaxing and wicked, then arched his tongue up to turn the kiss a little filthy. Ian tightened his grasp in Mickey’s hair in retaliation even as all his blood rushed south, so fast it was like being struck by lightning.

The sound of the back door knocking open convinced Ian to reluctantly pull back. He was left feeling raw and ignited under his own skin, the world over-bright as he opened his eyes. Mickey swayed slightly in his hold, sucking in a breath, as Tami ducked inside. She called out a greeting to everyone, handing off Fred to an eager Lip before taking a seat next to him and stealing the rest of his plate.

Mickey squeezed lightly at Ian’s waist before gently steering free of his hands to go open the fridge. Ian leant back against the nearest cupboard with a thready exhale, grateful for the counter bisecting the kitchen space and giving him some small measure of privacy to calm the fuck down. He’d wager that it didn’t do much, given the knowing and purposefully avoidant eyes of his siblings at the table, but it was the impression that counted, or something.

He could still taste Mickey at the back of his tongue and behind his teeth; smoky and heady and familiar. Ian watched him unabashedly as he poured out some juice, then slid around the end of the counter to top up Liam’s glass, too.

In the same moment, Debbie came racing down the stairs. She wasn’t, as Ian had half expected, wearing something nice, or even just fresh pyjamas after using up the remaining half of the hot water. She was in her work flannel and carrying her boots, which she threw in the direction of the back door.

“God, sorry,” she said, breezing through and snatching a coffee mug from the corner of the table. Lip did a double take and threw up a hand in a gesture that said he was annoyed but not enough to actually fight her for it. “Thank you. God, I can’t believe I have to go in today. I mean. It’s Valentine’s Day.”

Ian blinked.

His eyes dropped back to the rose, realisation setting in somewhere just underneath his ribs with a hot pulse. Mickey was biting his lip again, skirting his way back to the fridge without comment.

Then Debbie saw it. She nearly spat out her mouthful of hot coffee but just about managed to swallow it instead, sending a rush of pink into her face. (Ian was a little disappointed despite himself. It was only a matter of time before they inevitably had to teach Franny what a ‘spit-take’ was).

“Oh my  _ god- _ who- is that- ?”

“Mickey,” Lip supplied, pointedly casual in the face of her stuttering. Antagonism splashed through his expression as he rocked Fred against his shoulder. “Look who’s a romantic.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey threw at him, lacking heat, face scrunched in distaste.

Debbie wheeled on him, coffee sloshing against the rim of the mug in her hands. “Mickey? My god - you…” Something about her seemed to soften, her eyes a little dewy and awed. “You bought Ian a rose for Valentine’s day?”

“Hell no,” Mickey snapped, scowling. “The fuck do I need to buy a rose for?”

Maybe it was fucked up, but it was also them, somehow. Ian couldn’t quite help the sharp rush of affection, blending headlong into wanting that rocked through him, bone deep and searing hot. 

“You stole it,” he guessed aloud, eyes on Mickey. “You stole me a rose for Valentine’s day.”

“It was for whatever,” Mickey shrugged, slamming the fridge maybe a little too hard.

Ian stared back at him. It wasn’t an outright denial. “But you stole it today.”

Mickey gave up. He looked back at Ian, first with an eye roll, and then lifting an eyebrow coolly, daring him to argue.

Ian had no intention of arguing.

He’d been irrationally overwhelmed just looking at the rose; at how much it seemed to resonate, but knowing that Mickey had also snatched it from somewhere was somehow even more sharply them. He should disapprove, but he couldn’t make himself. It also occurred to Ian just then that Mickey’s hurried entrance and paranoid glances down the street were likely efforts to make sure no one saw him with his stolen contraband. Arguing with any of how this morning was unfolding was the last thing on Ian’s mind.

He pushed the last remaining plate along the counter towards Debbie. “All yours,” he told her, then reached out and snatched Mickey’s wrist, manhandling him just rough enough towards the stairs.

He was too busy watching the smile cut across Mickey’s face - watching it shift into a hot smirk as they stumbled up the steps - to look back at his family. He did hear the chorus of exasperated groans, but they were easily ignored.

“I’ll just put this in some water, shall I?” Debbie shouted up through the house in their wake.

That was nice of her. Ian had more pressing issues on his mind, and in other places, for that matter, to bother with replying, though. He had a husband to thank.

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly - I was very tempted to call this fic 'Like You Stole It' also for it's relevance to the season 4 soundtrack, but I felt like that would maybe give things away or that it'd be an easy connection to make as soon as the rose was brought up, so I sacrificed that for ambiguity. 
> 
> Secondly - I also wanted to more clearly tag Valentine's day somehow but I also felt that was better left a little vague kind of like Ian didn't even realise. Hopefully that works.
> 
> Thanks if you took a chance on this!


End file.
